I like to be butt naked. With socks. The fuzzy ones for cold nights. I have found my sleeps most rewarding. And I feel the wind. Or the wind feels me. It’s smooth like your kisses and tongue. It’s careful yet rough. I mean. Sleep has gotten better. I’ve written of your discoveries. Of your … More Sleep

Like Holy Days 

There are little words left in the mouth of this prophet. Hands are numb. Fingers have no feelings. I have succumbed to old age. And when I think of you. Of the past and the future that could of been. I realize. I know I could of loved and worshipped you like holidays, the holy … More Like Holy Days 


Slow. Naked in waterfalls off the small trails from main roads. Glistening in rare Ithaca sunshine. Beauty. Your body is a palace. Taj Mahal and Stonehenge. When you walk, when you talk. Knees buckle like heavy squats. Its been too long, the tension in these heartbeats, the speed in these pulses. I have not been … More Molasses


Festivities. Bring the wine. Bring the winery. The fresh and frozen grapes. Bring them all. I have stories to recount. Of how I conquered Rome. Of how I slayed the giants and the basilisk. The centaur and the siren. Oh marvelous things. How I have found freedom in engagements beyond the flesh. I have tales … More Bacchanalia

Sutras and 40s

Appropriation aint never been sexy. But when I write about the wisdom passed down by the Bodhisattva’s it’s not for glory of my own. I write for knowledge and exposure. These were my readings as a child. Father had the Kama sutra in his library, in Spanish, still can’t read it but the images are … More Sutras and 40s


Moon devouring, Sun spitting, Earth splitting, gravity shaking monuments called your hips. Tell them how you rattled Sodom & Gomorrah, and Los Angeles. Lips like napalm and strawberry daiquiris. Learned you like childhood nurseries. Kama sutra, all the sutras, I mean I have found Bodhisattvas deep in your wounds.